


Yours With Love

by Elennare



Category: Anne of Green Gables - L. M. Montgomery
Genre: Epistolary, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-24
Updated: 2017-08-24
Packaged: 2018-12-19 13:07:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11898369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elennare/pseuds/Elennare
Summary: Letters from Gilbert to Anne, during his three years at Kingsport.





	Yours With Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [opticalprism](https://archiveofourown.org/users/opticalprism/gifts).



Dearest Anne,

We made our first diagnoses today - on a textbook description rather than a person, as a class exercise, but we diagnosed. It’s rather a solemn thing, and really makes you realise how much another human being’s health will be dependent on your eyes and brains. Some of the fellows acted blasé about it when it was their turn, or tried to, but I didn’t feel I could or should. Yes, it’s true that someday we’ll be doctors ourselves, seeing many patients each day, but that doesn’t mean we should treat it all lightly. The difference between a right or a wrong diagnosis may mean the difference between life and death! When you may hold someone’s life in your hands, you should give your work the respect it’s due.

I know you understand, Anne. Teachers also hold lives in their hands, in a way - not in the sense of life and death, generally, but to help or hinder. A sympathetic teacher can make all the difference in a child’s life… I wonder how different our lives would have been, for example, if Miss Stacy hadn’t come to teach at Avonlea? I expect you would still have prepared for the Entrance at Queens, you always had a thirst for knowledge - and then I would have had to do it too, for rivalry’s sake! Oh,what a pair of stubborn little gooses we were in those days. And yet I wonder if I would have gone in for it… It wasn’t always easy for the boy I was to stay cooped up in a schoolroom. Perhaps I’d have decided to take up farming or some other outdoor work instead. I might have come to realise this is what I want to do with my life later, but I’m not sure I’d have seen it then. And certainly I don’t think I’d have passed so well if all we’d had was Mr Phillips and his like.

So keep up the good work, Anne-girl, Pringles or no Pringles! I’ll do the same, and we can both hope to influence some fellow creature’s life for the better. And who knows - perhaps someday, God willing, we shall have some little lives entirely in our hands, in our ‘house of dreams’. What a fearful responsibility - but what a joyous one!

Yours with love,

Gilbert Blythe

******

“Last visit of the day, Blythe, and then we can go home. I dare say it’s seemed a long day?” Dr Johnson looked him searchingly, as they came up to his final patient’s home.

Gilbert stepped forward to open the gate. “Not at all, sir,” he replied cheerfully. “It’s been terribly interesting, and I’ve learnt a great deal.”

The elder man nodded. “Good, good.”

Gilbert had spent the whole day accompanying Dr Johnson as he went about his practice, and many and varied were the cases he had seen that day - from a baby with croup, to a schoolgirl with a broken arm, to a querulous old man who (as he suspected, and the doctor confirmed) really suffered from nothing but overworrying about his health. He had done his best to absorb everything Dr Johnson said and did, and thought his teacher was quite pleased with him.

As they were shown into the living room and he caught a glimpse of their final pacient, Gilbert nearly stumbled with shock. For a fleeting moment, he was back in Avonlea that first Redmond summer, greeting Ruby and trying to conceal his dismay. And yet this girl was not so very like her. Her hair was fair, yes, but her eyes were dark and the lines of her face were different… but in the unnatural shine of her eyes and feverish colour of her cheeks, in the cough that now started up, she and Ruby were one and the same. With a sinking heart, he already knew what the diagnosis would be.

Sure enough, “Consumption,” Dr Johnson pronounced gravely, to the horrified gasps of the girl and her parents.

Gilbert watched quietly but intently as Dr Johnson wound up the visit - perhaps the most important one of the day. He took mental note of everything: the gentle but firm refusal to let them deny the reality of the dreaded disease; the recommendation of a sanatorium; the assurance following his advice would offer the best possible chance, while warning that it might not be enough. One day not too far away now, this would be his job, and he must learn how to handle it as well as he possibly could.

The two men were both quiet for a while as they walked away from the house.

“A hard case, that one,” Dr Johnson finally said, breaking the silence.

“She reminded me of a girl I once knew, who died of consumption, a few years ago now,” Gilbert volunteered.

“A sweetheart?” the doctor asked kindly, and Gilbert shook his head.

“Just a schoolmate. I’m glad this family seem to have listened to you. The Gillises refused to admit there was anything the matter with Ruby… I’ve wondered since if she mightn’t have lived if she’d had proper treatment.”

Poor Ruby. Gilbert remembered she’d written to him, that first year at Redmond that turned out to be her last… he was never very interested in her letters, which were little more than gossip about her beaux. He always wrote back, though, with the courtesy his mother had instilled in him - and was glad of that afterwards.

Dr Johnson sighed. “Those cases are terrible to see, when you know there could be hope if they would only listen… But consumption can be deadly even with the best of care, so often we can merely prolong life a little. A true cure for all cases seems far beyond our reach - and yet, who knows? Such great work is being done, perhaps your generation will see this and other diseases finally defeated.”

 _It’s certainly something worth hoping for, isn’t it, Anne?_ Gilbert wrote that night, winding up the description of his day.   _Even if it will be too late for Ruby, and perhaps this girl today, it could save so many people like them… If I can play even the smallest part in this work, I’ll be well content._

 

******

Annest of Annes,

If you were expecting to surprise me with your news that you’ve been meddling again by writing to Elizabeth’s father, I’m afraid I have to disappoint you. I’ve been expecting you to do something to try and improve her lot since the day you met her! Poor child, she certainly deserves a better girlhood than she’ll have in that gloomy house. I’m sorry I couldn’t come to Avonlea the summer you took her with you, but through your letters I quite feel as if I know her. I have to confess, her father taking an interest at last seems a rather slender hope… Perhaps the Pringles could do something? Mrs Campbell may be formidable, but she is a Pringle after all; surely Miss Sarah could influence her. Or if you could get Jen Pringle to befriend little Elizabeth, I suspect she could be quite a force for good in her life. It wouldn’t be the same as a loving home of her own, but it would be something at least - though I do hope your ‘meddling’ will be successful and my back-up plans unneeded.

So Dusty Miller is to be a fixture at Windy Poplars from now on! I’m glad to hear it, he sounds a dear cat from your letters. It wouldn’t surprise me in the least if giving him away was all a plot of the widows; where cats are concerned even the most upright and honest persons can suddenly become remarkably devious. I remember, when I was about five, Mother once took me over to the Andrews’ and they gave me a kitten. Well, it turned out Mrs Andrews had already offered it to Mother, who was afraid Father would say we had more than enough cats as it was - but she knew if I brought it home as MY cat, he wouldn’t say a word! I’m glad she thought up that scheme, I loved my Sooty (even if I did give him the same name as every other black cat in the world) and he was my constant companion all through my childhood.

There are no cats here, unfortunately, as my landlady can’t stand them - but as it’s the only bad thing I have to say about her, I really don’t have much to complain about. She’s certainly an improvement over some I’ve had! There is a cat next door, but she’s a shy little thing who never puts her nose out of doors, so I’ve had no success making friends with her. However, Mother keeps me well supplied with news of all the cats at home… I think she tells me more about them than she does about Father and herself.

We must have cats in our house of dreams, Anne-girl. There’s nothing quite like a contented cat purring on the hearth-rug on a winter night to make you feel all’s right in the world… but one or two is enough, a house overrun with cats is rather too much of a good thing! I do like being able to sit down without having to turn a cat out because every chair is taken by one of them. Although at least a cat will get out of your way, unlike the cushions that landlady of yours had in your first place at Redmond - what was her name? I remember how terrified you all were of anyone sitting on them, and yet it was almost impossible not to. Didn’t old Charlie squash a particularly special one flat?  Speaking of Charlie, I heard from him not long ago - you never saw a letter so puffed up with pride, all about his farm and the success he and his bride are making of it. Well, I wish them good luck; after the bad start they had when the rains came so late last year, they certainly deserve it.

I’m too tired to write much more, but know I shall be waiting on tenterhooks to hear of your visit to Tomgallon House! What a name! I shall expect tales of ghostly moans and mysterious rattlings at the very least.

Yours with love,

Gilbert Blythe 

******

Darling Anne,

This will have to be the shortest of short notes, as final exams are tomorrow, but I had to take a moment out of revising - and what better way than to write to you? These three years seem to have gone by so quickly now. We’ve waited and worked hard, and soon our waiting will be over. This will find you at Green Gables, and I’ll be following on its heels - Dr Blythe - I hope! And not long after that... not long after that, Anne-girl, I shall be the happiest man alive.

Yours with love, one last time from Kingsport,

Gilbert Blythe 

**Author's Note:**

> I was intrigued by your prompt about how little we see of Gilbert's life, and it got me thinking how we never see any of his letters back in "Anne of the Island", which prompted these. I hope you liked them!


End file.
